by Lyz Kelley
He looked out of the round kitchen window. “Where did Dad go?”
“Who knows? You know your father doesn’t deal well with family matters. Don’t judge him too hard, Joey.”
“Judge him? I think you have the judgment part the wrong way around. Nothing I ever did was good enough.”
“That’s not true.”
He couldn’t stop an incredulous eyebrow from lifting. “Really?”
“What can I say? Your father has just never learned to love, or be loved. His parents were farmers who worked from sunup to sundown. The boys were in the field. The girls were in the kitchen. His family had little time for love.”
“It’s hereditary. That’s his excuse. Is that what you’re saying? That I’m going to beat my kids with belts, refuse to listen, and demand each get a college education with no support from the family? Ma, I’m not the one who barely graduated from high school. I’m also not the one who hides his liquor in the shed out back and thinks the family doesn’t know.”
His mother’s eyes grew wide with hurt.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Joey crossed his arms and looked at his feet, struggling to button down his resentment.
“Yes you did,” the defiance in her voice came through. “You’ve always spoken the truth. So I’m going to do the same.” His pint-sized mother seemed to grow inches taller while he watched. “Your father works too much, he drinks, and he hides his feelings. He’s difficult to read. So are you. Both of you have found jobs allowing an escape from the domestic world. You both can find any excuse to work and never come home. You’re more like him than you realize.”
No. I’m. Not. I’m nothing like that man.
His mother lifted her hand to his cheek and gave him a gentle pat. “You need to tell people in your life how you feel. Start with Mara. Go to her. You’ve watched that girl for a long time, Joey, and don’t you roll your eyes. A mother sees things, even when you don’t think she’s watching. I’m thinking maybe you’ve been watching, possibly avoiding for too long. Do yourself a favor. Let her go and move on. Or take her hand and explore. Because, if there is one thing I’ve learned, there’s only do or not do. There are no half-ways in life. And life is too short for regrets.”
I’ve already got regrets. Enormous ones. Like not appreciating you more.
“I’m leaving tomorrow, Ma, and you raised me to not start something I can’t finish. Watch over Mara for me, and I’ll promise to do everything possible to avoid repeating history. But be warned. When I open up, you might not like what I have to say.”
The softening of her shoulders gave him pause. “All I’ve ever wanted for my children is a healthy, independent life. Whether you want to believe it or not, your dad and I just wanted to give you a solid foundation. A good education. An understanding of how far a dollar stretches. Life isn’t going to be all puppies and kittens, Joey. You have to work at making a happy life.”
“And all this time I thought you weren’t sentimental.”
“When you become a father, Joey, you’ll understand the genuine love and absolute terror of raising a child. It will change you. Your life will no longer be your own.”
He uncrossed his arms and let her conviction circulate through his soul. “I resented you and Dad. Nothing I did was ever good enough.”
“That’s not true. You were always hard on yourself and just never heard the kudos. Oh, my Joey. Always so serious.”
An awkward silence extended between them. Previous perceptions worked their way into a new form.
“I’d better go say my good-byes.” Joey took a step to leave, then paused. “One more thing.” His mother drew in a heavy, uneasy breath as if bracing for what he would say next. He admonished himself for the thoughtless choice of words, and thought carefully before he continued. “About Sam’s case. I don’t think Mark Walters killed Sam.” He ran his hand over his head, then squeezed the base of his neck. “The details and timelines don’t work.”
“What are you saying?”
“The killer is still out there.”
His mother placed a hand on his chest. “I can see in your eyes there’s something more. Tell me.”
“Something doesn’t add up. My gut tells me Sam stumbled onto something big, too big, and he got himself killed. If Dad finds out, I’m afraid he might push the wrong buttons and make himself a target. We might want to put this behind us, at least for a while, before someone else gets hurt.”
“Your father isn’t going to like this.”
Joey managed a dry puff of humor. “Why do you think I told you first and not him?”
“Joey Gaccione, I didn’t raise a coward.”
“No, no, Ma, you didn’t. You raised a very intelligent man, one who knows not to light a firecracker while he’s holding it, or tell his father something he absolutely does not want to hear.”
“Then you go work your case in Seattle. I’ll manage.”
He had no doubt she would manage. The woman had a backbone of steel.
“No. I’ll go find Dad. I just need to figure out how to get him to listen for once.”
That’s if I can find him.
He needed to find a way to get through to his dad the seriousness of the danger, because if he didn’t, he just might have another murder to investigate.
His chest hollowed with sudden awareness. I bet I know where he is.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
An hour later, Joey slid onto the stool at Mad Jack’s bar. “I figured I’d find you here.”
His father’s bloodshot eyes turned slowly in his direction, took a few moments to focus, then squinted with disapproval.
“What are you doing here? You’re s’pose to be with your mother.” The whiskey-saturated statements tumbled out in one jumbled slur.
Joey glanced at the sports channel replaying the week’s highlights, then the waitress clearing the tables for the night. His dad, the last patron in the place, sat cemented to the barstool. Jack closely monitored the activity, but remained at the other end of the counter washing dishes. He appeared ready to cash out for the night.
“You left without telling anyone where you were going.” Joey monitored his father’s movements. “The family’s worried. Have you had enough?”
“Don’t you start with me, boy.”
Joey motioned to Jack, and the man he’d known since he could see over the bar came to stand in front of him, a drying towel and glass in his hands. “What’ll it be?”
“Two coffees, black.”
“I don’t want any of that shit. Bugger off.”
“No can do, Dad.” His jaw clamped shut, preventing him from giving the man his unadorned, completely honest opinion, words he might regret if he had a moment to consider what he so eagerly wanted to say.
“What are you going to do? Huh? Force me? Come on, try it. I dare you—you little piss-ant. I’d squash you like the worthless bug you are. You didn’t think I’d hear?”
“Hear what, Dad.”
“I heard you didn’t catch your brother’s killer after all.”
The agony of keeping his emotions tucked inside suddenly became too much, and he allowed his neck muscles to ease, his head to drop, and his hands to curl into tight fists.
Same old crap, just a different year.
Exhaustion from hearing the repetitive, worn-out commentary of his dad’s opinion of him sank deep under his skin. He didn’t want to fight. The adolescent fear had evaporated. In its place, he’d cultivated a mature sense of pity.
“Okay, Dad. You have a choice. You can drink some coffee, then I’ll take you home. Or I’ll have Jack cut you off, and we can sit here all night so you can continue to tell me what a worthless piece of crap I am.”
“Jack’s not going to cut me off. I just buried my son, for fuck’s sake. In fact, pour me another double.”
Joey’s gaze connected with the old biker. He’d never known Jack to be anything other than a smart man, and Jack proved it by setting two cups of hot coffee
on the old wooden bar, along with a bowl of creamer and some sugar.
The bartender’s action spiked his father’s temper to flaming hot, causing him to turn his laser-focused anger at Joey. “You’re a pompous piece of shit. Why couldn’t you be more like your brother?” His father’s spittle and liquored breath landed on Joey’s cheek, and he wrestled with the desire to fight back. That’s what his father wanted. A fight. An outlet for his rage, the intense rage that had been burning red hot for too many years.
“Antonio,” Jack warned.
“It’s okay, Jack,” Joey said with a sigh. “He hasn’t managed to say anything new for years.”
A scowl tightened his dad’s brows and mouth. “Why did you come back, anyways? Huh? Why?”
Good question. He’d asked himself the same thing a thousand times before getting on the plane. He hadn’t come home out of obligation. The family ties had worn thin over the years. Had he come back to avoid more regrets? To find closure, possibly reconnect? Or was returning home his way of figuring out why he’d left in the first place?
“I don’t know, Dad. It just seemed the right time—shitty circumstances, but the right time.”
“What type of crap answer is that?”
“An honest one.”
“An honest one…wah-wah-wah.”
The sarcasm hit a raw nerve. He swallowed the vile taste of despair, let guilt seep into his bones, and strengthened his resolve to not let the liquor-saturated man before him push him to the edge. Never again. Never again would he allow another person to demoralize and degrade him until he believed the rhetoric. The drunk before him wouldn’t qualify as a decent man, much less a father.
“Come on, Dad.” He put a hand on his father’s back and pushed up from his stool. “You can sober up at Sam’s place.” Because there’s no way you’re going to lay a hand on Mom. Not while I’m here.
Why she hadn’t left him years ago, Joey had never understood.
“Don’t touch me.” His dad went to shove his arm away but missed and lost his balance, landing hard on the cement floor. His eyes turned black with embittered animosity. “Look what you made me do.”
The man rolled to his knees and slowly stood before taking a swaying step and another swing. His massive fist connected with Joey’s jaw, and the pain exploded in his head, whipping his upper body to the side. His mind numbed and his body reacted by releasing years of pent-up wrath. His body whipped back, fingers bunched into a steel ball, picking up speed, connecting with his father’s face. Surprise registered briefly in his father’s eyes before they rolled up, his body losing the battle to remain vertical and toppling backwards like a felled tree.
Joey didn’t reach out. Didn’t try to break the fall. Just watched. A heavy sigh escaped as he shook the pain from his hand. Well, crap.
“I’ve been waiting for one of you boys to knock some sense into your old man.”
Joey’s gaze met Jack’s. “Hitting him wasn’t something I planned, but I can’t say he didn’t deserve some form of payback after all these years.”
Jack chuckled with empathy. “Planned or not, I don’t think many people would’ve gotten in your way. Some might even cheer you on. Let me get a bag of ice for your hand.”
“Much appreciated.”
Pain rocketed up and down his arm while he lowered to the barstool and checked to make sure he hadn’t broken a finger. First his shoulder, now his face and hand. He glanced at the man on the floor, the adrenaline-induced numbness slowly winding down and easing into a throbbing agony.
He took a slow breath and let the events of the day seep in and register.
For too many years he’d been on the move, ducking and weaving like a fighter in the ring, trying to dance out of the way to avoid a bloodbath. Years of avoiding bloodshed had made him realize he could only dodge, crouch and bow to his father for so long before he became too tired to fight. Exhausted, he had to put an end to the abuse, and with a single punch, he’d taken a stand.
“Here you go.” Jack passed him a clear bag of ice.
Lifting the bag, Joey placed the ice pack over his lower jaw and closed his eyes against the pain. “I suppose I should get him to Sam’s place so I can keep an eye on him. I expect he’ll be a bear come morning. Would you mind helping me get him to the car?”
Jack peered over the bar top. “You can leave him there if you want.”
Tempting. “Thanks, but I think we need to have a conversation, and he needs to be sober for it. It’ll be my last chance before heading to the airport. If he wakes up in this bar, he’s liable to start in again. What do I owe you?”
“Why don’t you have one of your sisters bring some leftovers over tomorrow, and we’ll call today a wash?”
Small town kindness. He’d missed the hospitality. Sure, people in Seattle were friendly, but the Northwest goodwill only extended so far.
“Sounds good. Got a wheelbarrow so I can wheel his sorry ass out of here?”
“Just so you know, I’m sorry to see you go. I was hoping you were going to stay.” A slow, humor-filled smirk settled across the bartender’s face. “Give me five, and we’ll figure something out.”
Joey nodded, ignoring Jack’s praise.
Then a realization began expanding like the sun’s rays coming over the mountain ridge just before dawn.
This town hadn’t changed.
He had. Mara had.
He promised her he’d protect her, yet all he’d done was put her in awkward situations with his family and break her heart. He’d never forget the pain on her face. The best thing he could do for her was to leave her be.
The past week, he’d busted up his body but that didn’t compare to his heart.
His body would mend.
His heart was a totally different matter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ouch! The biting sting of a fresh cut shot up Mara’s hand and wrist while disappointment hunkered in as she contemplated just how many vases could be broken.
She rushed to the counter and shoved her fingers under the cold water while reaching for the first aid kit.
Anxiety and frustration over now needing to deal with an international vendor and possible insurance claim, she dropped the emergency box, and the contents scattered across the counter.
Really? What else can go wrong today?
While she was hunting for a bandage, the front doorbell sounded.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, trying hard to push the pain aside so she could sound pleasant and welcoming.
“Just me,” Kym called back. “I came by to see how your dinner went with Joey.”
Mara patted the counter, searching for the correct Band-Aid size.
“What happened?” Kym asked, accompanied by a snap and pop of bubble gum.
“The vases arrived broken.”
“No way. That sucks.”
“Especially since I don’t have the time or money to replace them in time for Easter. I should have never ordered them from China. The time. The risk.” Mara carefully wrapped the plastic strip around her finger, disposed of the extra paper, taking a few extra minutes to gather and shove the emergency supplies into the box.
The front door sounded again. “Be with you in a minute,” Mara called and tucked the emergency kit back where the box belonged.
“Take your time,” came the response.
The female voice, the elongated vowels, the sweet, lyrical tone, made her drop her head and cringe.
“What’s wrong?”
Mara took a long, deep inhale to calm the queasy feeling beginning to rumble in her stomach. “It’s Anna. Her parents probably sent her to apologize, but I don’t want to deal with it today.”
“No. I will deal with it. No one is going to call you pathetic.”
Mara grabbed Kym before she could move. “No. You. Won’t. You will smile and be nice to my customer.” Mara stepped through the doorway into the front room, forcing her customer-friendly smile into place. “Good aft
ernoon, Anna. How may I help you?”
Shuffling footsteps stalled and then approached the counter. “How did you know it was me?”
“It’s complicated. Are you here for some flowers?”
“Actually, you left so quickly last night you forgot your coat, and didn’t get any dinner. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said those things.” At the clink of metal buttons on the counter, Mara reached for the familiar wool fabric. Joey’s coat was still on her bed. Last night, she’d clung to the fabric doused with his scent as the hurt and pain absorbed into the torrent of tears.
“My sisters and I packed you some meals. They all can be frozen, except the tiramisu.”
The rustling of bags and the quiver in Anna’s voice gave Mara the impression Anna was uneasy and possibly feeling a tinge of genuine regret.
“That’s mighty kind of you to bring the food,” Kym stepped from the back room. “Mighty kind.” The tightness in her friend’s voice spelled trouble. Just for once, Mara wished people she loved would allow her to handle her problems.
“Anna, you remember Kym. She owns the salon next door.” Mara pushed the residual animosity aside with an exhale.
“I think you did my nails for prom.”
“Most likely. I think I did just about everyone’s nails for prom.”
Mara pulled the closest oversized bag of food across the counter hoping to draw Kym’s attention away from Anna. “This is a lot of food. I appreciate you bringing it over. And, Anna, I understand why you said what you did. I know what people around town are saying. I do.”
“Let’s be clear. I said those things out of jealousy because you lived in a big house, had nice clothes, and drove a car. My sisters and I shared a room. I never had new clothes and had to make the best out of patched hand-me-downs. I couldn’t even make the cheerleading squad.”
“Maybe, you should have practiced more.” Kym purred.